Needing to Breathe
by Emerald-Torch
Summary: Shepard may become the Savior of the Galaxy, but there's always been more to her than that. Begins pre-ME1.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: So this is one of the first fics I've written in a while, and I wanted to see what people thought. Starts of pre-ME1, but I have ideas in mind that go through to post-ME3. Will be Shakarian later on, because I'm in the middle of my playthrough with that ship xD. Hope you all enjoy!

Rating: T (not sure how it will turn out later, may lower the rating)

Summary: Shepard may become the Savior of the Galaxy, but there's always been more to her than that. Begins pre-ME1.

* * *

It was kind of funny. Shepard had spent her whole life hating the responsibility that came with being a leader, yet time after time those around her saw her abilities and promoted her. It's not that she was terrible at her job—give her some task to do, and she'd complete it to the best of her abilities. And her abilities were good.

So she kept moving up. And when the panic attacks would overwhelm her, make her think she couldn't do it anymore, there was always someone there to help her through. To realize she wasn't the failure her brain tried to make her out to be. At first it was her mom, then it became Maria, who signed up to be in the Alliance same time she had. They ended up in the same dorm for basic, and hung out together until their specializations started to take too much of their time—Maria was an infiltrator, good at quickly diffusing bombs, where Shepard's engineer training left her good at sorting through mounds of data, looking for the one code to solve a problem. Maria used that to her advantage, calming Shepard down by having her data mine when blind panic overtook her.

She remembered the first time Anderson had walked in on her in the middle of an attack. She had just recently gotten a promotion to XO, which she accepted graciously, smiling at the cameras. But in her mind, all she could think of was the list of things now under her control. It hung in the back of her mind though, and Shepard forced the thoughts away. If she had been promoted, she deserved it. She could handle it.

She had returned to her room, noticing the flashing light on the screen indicating new messages. Sitting in front of her desk she opened it, laughing to herself as the first message to appear was from her mom, congratulating her. Skipping down a couple, she noticed her new assignment. _It wasn't as if they were going to give you the title of Commanding Officer and then leave you on land_. She shook her head slightly, trying to clear it. She had lived in space all her life—it was the only thing she knew. Still, sometimes she just wanted to sit still for a moment. She wondered what it would be like to live a normal life, maybe even one on Earth.

Skimming over the rest of the messages for any of importance, she decided the rest could wait. She was supposed to be onboard the Normandy, one of the Alliance's newest frigates, by dawn the next morning. Two days on shore leave at the Citadel, and already back to work.

Her heart pounded a little, hands shaking slightly as she folded up the two pairs of clothes she had bothered to unpack. She sighed and sat down on the edge of the bed, bringing up the program on her omni-tool that Maria had developed all those years ago. She data mined, trying not to think—about what was to come, about her friend's disappearance all those months ago, about her recent promotion. It took all of a minute to realize that the rising panic was not going to stop. Her breathing shuddered, hands moving repetitively up and down her pants as she tried to work out the nervous energy.

_Calm down, take a deep breath…_ Shepard took a ragged breath, still hyperventilating slightly through it. _You know this isn't a big deal. Nothing bad is going to happen. You've already proved you could do this work, Anderson wouldn't have recommended you for this promotion if he hadn't. _

_Unless he felt he had to because of your mom. Maybe that's why he's taking you, doesn't want to push off one of his mistakes to someone else. _Another side of her brain, the one she often tried to ignore, answered.

She wrapped her arms tightly around her waist, rocking back and forth slightly as she tried to hold back her sobs. There was no reason to break down, she knew that. It felt like two different people were warring within her brain, the rational side and the emotional. The emotional didn't make sense, it didn't work on logic—it preyed upon her sleep deprived, always worried state and made her emotions too large, too strong. And right now, it seemed like that side was winning out.

A beep at the door alerted her to someone waiting to get in. She looked up, startled. The brief moment outside her brain gave her the power to push the emotions to the side, hold the panic at bay. Her head was still a bit fuzzy so she bit her hand, using the pain to remain connected to reality. Letting out a shaky breath she wiped her eyes (_when did I start crying? I don't remember crying_) and ran a vibrating hand through her hair. Standing up straight, she went to the door as presentable as she could.

_Of course it's Anderson, who else would have this perfect of timing?_ She smiled at the captain, saluting before showing him into the room. She was slightly confused as to why he decided to come to her place on the Wards rather than call her, but she knew better than to question the one in charge.

Anderson smiled as he came in, although worry showed in his eyes. "Ready for tomorrow?" He sounded happy but slightly nervous, yet Shepard barely heard the undertone as her anxiety came back.

She coughed slightly, hoping to get her breathing and voice under control in the few seconds that bought her, before answering. "As well as I can be sir. I didn't have much to repack." She smiled slightly at him. _Good, you didn't sound too off_.

Anderson's eyes narrowed, looking closely at Shepard. She quickly placed her hands behind her back, hoping he didn't see their shaking. _I must still look like a mess. It's not as if two seconds of trying to get it together ever works, you know that. And your voice was off. You two may not have worked together yet, but he does know you from your last tour._

_Stop! Stop it._ She took a deep breath as subtly as she could, trying to keep the panic from rising. She saw and heard Anderson speaking, but couldn't make sense of the words. He looked at her as if expecting an answer. _Think you idiot, think! What did he just say?_ Her breathing became more labored.

Anderson covered the distance between them quickly, carefully leading her to the chair nearby. He kneeled in front of her, keeping his hands on her biceps as her breathing increased, her body shaking. He spoke calmly, his deep voice slowly penetrating the fog of anxiety that covered her brain.

They didn't talk about that night until they were aboard the Normandy. He had waited until she had calmed down and made sure she was ok, but quickly excused himself afterwards when he saw how tired she looked. The next morning when they met at the docking bay, he acted as if the night before never happened, asking her the general questions that she assumed he had come to talk about. Everything was very straightforward, and although she was confused a large portion was just relieved. She had expected to be off the ship, confined to shore leave while she went and talked to a psychologist (she had been before, it didn't help. Some days it even made it worse. So she pretended like everything was better in order to get released. She was a very good liar sometimes). Instead, Anderson had waited until the second night aboard the ship to approach her.

"I was just wondering how you were settling in." She dropped the datapad in her hand and quickly turned around at his voice, trying to stand at the same time. He waved her down. "Please don't stand every time I enter a room. I hate it when we're at the Citadel, and I get it enough from the crew now." He walked over to the chair opposite her and sat. "Have you left here at all today?"

She nodded slightly, picking up the datapad and placing it on her 'to-do' stack. "I have, sir. I've been trying to make rounds with the crew, see how they're all settling in. Everyone seems fine so far, and there haven't been any major personality conflicts yet."

"Have you eaten?"

Shepard looked down, hands twisting slightly in her lap. _Crap._ "Not yet, sir. I was going to go to the mess after I finished these reports."

He hummed slightly, and she looked up at him. He was looking at her, observing her movements carefully. "You really should get on that. I don't want to mother you Shepard, but I will. As I'm sure you know, anxiety can act up worse when you don't eat or sleep…" Her eyes widened, and she quickly looked down, twisting her hands more. _This is it. He's going to think I'm not up for the job. He only waited until we're this far out so I'll finish out this tour before he requests a transfer, and it'll look good on his record._

"Shepard? Did you hear a word I said?" Her head snapped up, eyes going to his. He smiled kindly at her. "That's what I thought. Shepard, you're a damn good soldier, anxiety or no." He held up a hand, expecting her response. "I don't care about it, and no one in the Alliance does either. I knew about it before you stepped onto my ship that first day. See, unlike other captains I go over my crew's profiles. Try to get to know their personalities and experiences to weed out any problems early on." _The psych profile. Of course it would be in there, I went to an Alliance doctor._ She shook her head slightly at her own stupidity, looking down at her hands again. They had stilled, an unnatural but not unwelcome calmness descending on her body.

"That's why I went to your place after the ceremony. I know you, and I know you're going over all the things you could do wrong." He let out a short laugh under his breath. "I've been there, I know the feeling of added responsibility. And I know that even though you could handle it, you'd doubt yourself. So I wanted to make sure you were ok." He slapped his knees. "I wanted you as my XO, Shepard. That's why I promoted you. Don't think you don't belong on this ship."

The inhale of air was shaky, but her exhale was smoother. Shepard looked up, smiling slightly as Anderson rose. "Thank you, sir." What he said replayed in her mind, each time calming her worries slightly. He had known, but he still promoted her. He wanted her here. The smile that crossed her face was shaky, but genuine. "That means a lot."

He had reached the door and turned to look at her, smiling back. "I'm glad to have you on board Shepard." He tossed something silvery towards her, and her reflexes made her catch it before she even knew what she was doing. Looking at it, she noticed it was a ration bar. She looked back up and noticed he was gone, the thank you dying on her lips. Turning back to the datapads, her smile grew wider as she tore open the package to eat.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N; Just wanted to say thank you to those that are following the story, it's great to know someone wants to see how it goes :) But don't feel too shy to leave a review! Even if it's to tell me that something sounds wrong/off, or whatever, I'd love some responses to this.

Without further ado, here's chapter 2! (hehe, that rhymed without me even trying)

* * *

Nightmares were nothing new, unfortunately. She wasn't one to toss and turn, but she was shaking as she tossed back the covers and got up. This time it was Elysium. Again.

Running a hand through her hair, she looked at the clock. A little after two, meaning that no one would still be up besides the graveyard shift. She had been meaning to talk to them anyways. Shepard let out a sigh (_Four hours of sleep wasn't great, but I've survived with less_) and quickly grabbed her clothes and headed to the bathroom. She normally liked getting up early so she could use the showers without a crowd, but now she almost wished for someone to distract her thoughts.

It was soon after Elysium that she had been told to go to the psychologist again. She had already been for a mission debriefing, but this was weeks after. There had been two messages on her terminal—her shore leave had been extended, and she was requested to go to Huerta Memorial Hospital. She stayed for weeks, going in every few days, talking about her life so that the doctor could help her figure out when she started to become anxious. It became repetitive, Shepard saying she had always felt like this and the doctor pushing her to think back, to figure out what caused it. The doctor seemed sure that it was a mix of PTSD and anxiety, but Shepard wasn't sure about that. If it was PTSD, it sure as hell felt the same. Would it affect her service? Was she thinking clearly when her troops were attacked on Elysium? Shepard almost laughed at that. When she was on a mission, her head was always clear, she assured the doctor. It was when she had some down time that things became…problematic.

Going to the doctor soon made her irritable and anxious for the entire day leading up to it. She hated going in, even though people said it was for the best. After two months, she requested to be released. The psychologist wasn't happy, but she couldn't find a reason to make her stay when Shepard continually promised that she wasn't affected in the field. Shepard assumed she must have made some remark on her evaluation form, because the very next day Shepard was told to pack for her next tour. She had gotten very little downtime since.

Finishing her shower, Shepard quickly dried and dressed. It was funny, because being on a ship allowed for plenty of downtime and little distractions. She had her work, sure, and she tried throwing herself into it all the time. But there were still moments when they were floating in empty space, waiting for the next set of orders.

Something felt different about this mission though. She went to the mess hall and wrinkled her nose at the smell of coffee. She suspected it had just been made, but she avoided it as she reached for the barely used box of teas. She was pretty sure she was the only one who drank tea, but she had been happily surprised when she saw the box in the ship's kitchen. Normally she had to bring her own or request it, and she had forgotten to do either before takeoff. Using the coffee maker's hot water spout, she filled a mug and set the bag in to steep.

Looking at her omni-tool, she noted that only fifteen minutes had passed since she had woken up. Deciding to work out in the mess, she put the mug on the table and headed back to her room, folding her night clothes up and putting them away before grabbing some of the datapads still sitting on her desk.

She was surprised to see someone sitting at the mess table when she returned, but smiled as she recognized the frame. "Captain, I'm surprised to see you up and about." She sat across from him, grabbing her cup of tea from a few seats down first.

Anderson smiled back. "Same could be said for you, Commander. I thought you were still working when I was doing my final rounds." She shrugged and took a drink of the tea, avoiding his eyes. "I thought so." He stood and stretched, making the short trip to the counter of the mess to pick up a mug that was sitting there before returning. She noticed it was also filled with tea, and realization dawned on for why there had been tea onboard in the first place. He sat back down, taking a drink himself. "Surprised to see you're not drinking something stronger."

"Could say the same about you, sir." Shepard smiled, although it faltered slightly. "Sorry if I've been drinking too much, I wasn't expecting anyone else to drink it, sir." She looked down, playing with the teabag. "I'll replenish it next time we dock."

Anderson waved it off. "It's not a problem, Shepard. I'm glad someone else is enjoying it too. A drink like this, most soldiers ignore it. Say it takes too long, or isn't as good for keeping them up for long missions." He chuckled. "I appreciate it every once in a while. Reminds me of home." He took another sip.

She wanted to say something, to ask him about why tea reminded him of home, why he was up so early, or why there was a Turian Spectre onboard when they were headed to a human colony. But she held her tongue, enjoying the peaceful quiet that was only broken by the ship's ever-present hum. Anderson stood after a couple minutes and walked towards the kitchen, putting the mug in the sink and waving a goodbye as he headed towards the elevator to do rounds.

Shepard waved back, glad that they were so comfortable with each other that they could sit without talking. She was usually quiet, and liked listening more than talking. This usually meant the other person would babble to keep the room from getting awkwardly silent, but Anderson understood. She had a suspicion he liked the quiet too.


End file.
